Thursday, December 27, 2012

No shhhh-ing necessary. The obvious can be said aloud. I've got a big nose.

"You've got a bird nose." So my prominent nostrils were described by my college boyfriend, L.J. Upon registering the look of hurt in my eyes, he also added, "And I have a pig nose. So?"

It was a level of bluntness I wasn't prepared to hear. My heart felt like it was going to burst.

It's not like he was the first person to say I have a schnoze. I knew it. I often complained of it's large size.I fantasized all through high school of getting a rhinoplasty (As an aside, they had to call it that? RHINOplasty? Way to make it just that much worse.). Even family members told me I had drawn the genetic short stick in this area. My grandmother made pronouncements about my poor "nose bridge." My dad said I had inherited my mom's "clown nose." And my cousin Quiana just summed it up with "You've got a big nose, Lee." But, to her credit, she added that I was "still cute." Blech. Who wants that consolation prize?

Months ago I read an article on CNN that stopped me in my e-tracks: "Learning to love my big nose." WHOA! The writer, Kat Kinsman, had put it all out there.

With a boyish bowl haircut and an outsized nose as the prow of my
moon-pale face, I did not sail easily through the rites of womanhood. I
was ugly and was told so, both in words and by omission. I remain unsure
which was worse: being directly informed of my unattractiveness, or
simply never being told I was the least bit lovely. Sure, it's all skin
deep, but it can sink in and leave a scar.

After a "Mean Girls" experience on a field trip involving popular girls tormenting her and especially her "witch" nose, she experienced a dramatic shift.

Something in me fractured that night, and as it shifted, another part
freed. There was no way I'd ever be beautiful -- so I didn't have to
try.

It's astonishing how
liberating that felt. I could focus on the things that brought me some
measure of happiness while I was plotting my escape from my small town. I
painted, I edited the yearbook, I wrote horrible angsty poems, I made
weird and delightful friends and talked to boys like they were actual
human beings, because I knew there was no chance they'd think such a
funny looking girl was flirting with them.

...

In the first few weeks
of art school, I ceased to hide, stuck a ring through my right nostril,
dyed my hair the most shocking shades I could find on the shelves and
was surprised as a person could be when a boy said he loved me. It
flamed hard and burned out quickly, and I assumed he'd just been kindly
enough to overlook my obvious facial deformities -- though he surely
seemed to spend a lot of time painting pictures of the rest of me.

And then it happened
again. Only this time it was different. I looked across the diner table
to see my new boyfriend Jon and our friend Helen staring at me rather
intently. I instinctively grabbed a napkin to blot my lipstick, and
yanked my flaming crimson hair down over my face. "What?"

Helen nodded contemplatively. "It's your nose. Definitely your nose."

Jon agreed. "Yep. Definitely."

The grilled cheese
sandwich I'd been enjoying suddenly threatened to reappear on the table.
I could not take this. Not from the two of them, who I'd started to
find essential in my world. "My nose...what?!"

"It's the thing that
makes you beautiful. Like, it doesn't look like anyone else's. It's the
thing that makes you look like you." Helen went back to chewing her
fries.

"Yep," Jon said. He returned to Helen's fries, and I quietly imploded inside.

When I read Kat's story, I got teary-eyed and felt that ache in my chest. Being a big-nosed girl, I could totally relate. While I didn't embrace mine to far later, I decided years ago that I since I'd never be beautiful or an "It" girl, I could ride out my youth comfortably as a nerd. I got straight A's and a full ride to college. I took poetry classes and wrote about music for two of the university papers. I eventually got a nose ring, too. Since I couldn't hide it, I figured I'd decorate it. Wearing glasses became part of my persona. I have knock down, stop-traffic, gorgeous friends. I learned to appreciate walking at the green in the crosswalk.

Then of course, I met K. My handsome man has a nose much like mine. We laugh and say it's the family nose. Family... which brings me to Zoe. There's a better than good chance that she'll inherit it. And my little girl is my catalyst. Similar to how I refuse to pass to her my love-hate relationship with my small breasts, kinky hair, feet or thighs, Z will know a rose is still a rose, even with a big nose.

11
comments:

I love this and so needed to read it. Im dealing with alot of appearance related insecurities too. Always have, but as Im now a mom, my body changes, my skin changes, my nose and its crooked bridge seems prominent, my joints are increasingly uncomfortable...etc..etc....the other day I had a similar convo with myelf. I decided I felt most free being known as an artist....wild hair, natural makeup if any, comfy/artsy clothing...etc and I felt so free not trying to feel gorgeous, or as those around me would define the word. My husband thinks Im beautiful, and if my spirit is free to enjoy my body as is...then he will only find me more beautiful. So as I age...and it seems to be progressing rapidly these last few months...Im letting go and enjoying being creative with what Ive got....instead of feeling bad that its not how it used to be or not like someone elses.So anyway haha, thank you. My heart feels your heart.

Aging... ahhh, yeah, I've been noticing the changes in my self. Fine lines creeping around the corners of my eyes, the dark circles, the blemishes. A whole other set of self-acceptance issues to work through. I figure it's about time I shed the ones left over from the 90s.

I know Gary thinks your beautiful, which makes you even more beautiful... kind of weird, but totally sensical in my brain. Love becomes you.

Wow Alisha! You really write well :) This piece is so inspirational and sounds like it should be in a magazine or book. Girl you need to go make a career out of your writing. You can tell that you love what you do. It's awesome!!!

I like big noses (and I cannot lie - hey, you started it, with Digital Underground!) My wife went through something similar. Fortunately she made it through with the perfect nose (and everything else) that I love. Maybe there should be a required class in high school on how to find and love your personal style. Not sure it can be taught, though. You just have to own what God gave you, whatever it is.

I always had a big nose, and appreciated big noses, but that kind of thing is much easier for guys than gals, for some reason. If you can think of a way for my daughters to not have to go through this, let me know!

And this is another in a long line of pieces she has done that prove my point!On a personal note, it surprises me how many people, especially those around my own age, are still so judgmental of others based upon appearances! Beauty and looks fade, folks. What is left inside, in someone's heart, is what you are left to live with.

John Henry, your knowledge of early 90s hip hop/dance is quite impressive. My jaw dropped that you caught the reference (do the Humpty hump!). I think your daughters are in great hands. One, your wife has gone through it. She not only can provide support, but much needed empathy. And there's you. I can never stress enough the importance of daddy encouragement. While I know my father loves me, his thoughtless comments about my appearance, like having a "clown" nose further weakened an already shaky self-esteem. By being the awesome man you are, I'm sure your girls will navigate the teen years and beyond wonderfully.

Yes, I'm amazed at how superficial grown people can be, too. Look no further than the combox at Kat's story on CNN to see shining examples of it. Despite saying she has come to appreciate her nose, some trolls still called her Pinocchio and advised her to seek out surgery. Despite being 40, healthy and having an awesome career she loves. Smh.

Hehe. I know my Bay Area hip hop. (My buddy opened for Too Short and I met Lyrics Born at a poetry slam a looong time ago.) You can't quote Humpty at me without my noticing. But thanks. Daddy encouragement. I can do that.

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To borrow some words from Drake, "I'm more than just a number." But if I WERE a number, it would be 7. Since it's God's number, the 7th day is one to rest, and... well, I think it rocks. But if life were a scale of 1-10, then me being a 7 fits too, because I'm not perfect. But I'm not your average girl, either. :-) I'm 30, a Christ-follower, slightly off kilter (but aren't all "ar-teeests"?), and happily married to Keiron, my solid and strong rock. And Techie-extraordinaire. We are the proud parents of a baby girl, Zoe. Hope you enjoy my rantings, don't take my sarcasm too seriously and know that comments are welcome. Very welcome... ahem, HINT, HINT, HINT! But enough about me, time for this 7 to give it a rest. xoxox

"While reading your blog I often sense a certain amount of conviction on your behalf, which makes me wonder why isn’t everyone reading the blogs of a woman who actually “gets it.”Don, at Minus The Bars"A curious mix of the sacred and profane...too nice for a run of the mill blog? "Joe, my brother, author of The Blog of Blogs"Are you really bored or something?"Joscelyne, my sister"Pretty f****ing intense."Reader Brooke Farmer, on this entry.

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